Cigarette Daydreams
by lgbtfabray
Summary: Quinn Fabray has more hurt in her heart than any 18-year-old on the planet and the only person that doesn't understand that is herself. She unknowingly sets out on a journey of self-reflection and reinvention after a rocky experience during her trip back to Lima. She just doesn't know if she'll be able to let go of her inhibitions long enough to stop suffocating. Post Slap S04x08
1. Chapter 1

"I'm not here to apologize," they're the first words to shatter the thick silence lingering in the empty astronomy classroom. The first words to make Santana's presence known. They send chills down her spine in a way she can't seem to explain to herself, settling deep in her stomach before her heart drops to its snowy depths. She thinks even the planets hanging above her shiver from the disturbance.

"Are you ever?" She hates the way it rolls off her tongue with a familiar bitterness. One always associated with Santana, and her, and them. Like an all-encompassing poison she'll never be able to find the cure for. She thinks it's always a cry for help that she strangles before it leaves her mouth, and instead lets it fall out a mangled mess of acid spewed on whoever is unlucky enough to be a witness.

"Sometimes. When I think it needs to be done," and now Santana's moving closer. She's slowly making her way toward her destination and Quinn names the planets as they're passed.

_Neptune, Uranus, Saturn..._

And finally Mars, where she's sitting, and where Santana comes to a full stop. Mars, the god of war, and how fitting is that? She's been at war as long as she can remember; With her family, Santana, Rachel Berry, the world, herself. Quinn would've laughed at the irony if it didn't hurt so much. Santana's attentive gaze somehow hurts even more, so she looks back up to the stars, wondering if the plastic figures she's staring up at have the power to move her to another galaxy. Maybe if she reaches high enough, believes it hard enough. She thinks Brittany's imagination would have the power to teleport her wherever she desired. Too bad the other girl's purity burned Quinn's soul if she was around her for too long.

"Why are you here, then?" She wonders if she'll be able to contribute anything more than questions to this conversation. All of the bite from their encounter in the choir room was drained from her body the moment her palm touched Santana's cheek. _Touched_, that word is too gentle for the violence she was guilty of, but Quinn thinks she'll crumble under the weight of anything harsher.

"Brittany." It's an answer and a crack in her heart all the same. And she thinks Santana knows that. Santana always dissected the intricacies of herself before she even had a chance to begin sorting the pieces out. _Why does it hurt so much?_ She doesn't know how to explain why her heart twists so aggressively in her chest or the way the lump in her throat is rubbing itself raw and the tears prick at her eyes like the sun would prick at her skin. So, she doesn't. She swallows the words back into her soul and feels it crack a little bit more under their weight. She settles for a nod of acceptance and the disappointment in Santana's eyes makes her wish she was brave enough to just spit it out. "And I was worried about you, I guess." The words are timid and rushed, like Santana has to physically push them out of her mouth. Quinn knows how that feels.

"I just slapped you, Santana," she shrugs. "And you slapped me back." She isn't sure what reaction she wanted to achieve by stating a fact.

"Why are you so scared, Q?" But it sure as hell wasn't that.

"What?" She's out of breath when it tumbles out of her mouth, nothing more than a wobbly whisper. Nothing like the venomous tone she was trying to conjure.

"The slap, everything you said before it. You tried to sound like a bitch, but you just sounded scared. You've always sounded scared now that I'm thinking about it, I was just too caught up in myself to do anything about it." And Santana almost sounds remorseful, apologetic. Quinn's heard almost all of Santana's colourful vocabulary and attitudes, but she's never heard this. Not directed at her at least.

"I'm not scared of you," it's supposed to be denial but if you listen hard enough you can hear the confession behind her trembling voice. It's a lie that leaves a sour taste in both of their mouths. "And it's ridiculous that you think that."

"I know," Santana nods, she looks sad. Maybe she's sad that she's lying back. "I think you're scared of everything else." There's a softness in her eyes that she thinks Brittany may have left there and the thought makes her heart feel like it's beating again, however slightly.

She never could resent the bright-eyed, bubbly girl that came crashing into her life as gracefully as lightning crashes to the ground. Not for long, anyway.

Quinn doesn't mean to let the wetness spill from her eyes, the way her secrets are threatening to spill from her mouth. She's been doing so good at keeping it together but it's like Lima is just this cesspool of trauma and everything she's spent the last six months trying to separate herself from. The second she stepped foot in the town she felt her lungs collapse and when she feels Santana's tentative hand on her arm, she thinks it's the first time they've been able to function since her arrival. The same hand that left a red mark on her cheek less than an hour ago was now breathing life back into her shell of a body and the idea made her head hurt. Just two tears fall, dripping onto her pale hands that she's trying so hard to not let shake. Two tears that leave acid tracks down her face and it feels like the end of the world.

"I've started talking to Rachel." She says it without her voice trembling and it's enough to stop the ground from splitting open and swallowing her whole. Santana looks like she wants to protest the change of subject, but realization washes over her expression and Quinn thinks Santana understands it's her way of opening up. "We text everyday, but she still insists on emailing me here and there, God knows why."

"Berry's always been a weird one," Santana says it with a softness in her voice. She's scared of breaking the peace between them. Like if she speaks too loud Quinn will run away and not look back. Quinn thinks she might.

"It's nice," she pauses, wondering. "You know, having a friend." The word friend burns her throat the same way it does every time she talks about Rachel and she doesn't think about it. "I slapped her," she says to distract herself. "After prom in junior year. She followed me so she could console me and I just... slapped her. She wasn't even mad." The hollowness in her eyes and voice (and soul) scares Santana, it's clear as day, the terror on the face of this girl she once considered her best friend. If Quinn focuses hard enough, she can still see the scrawny child with pigtails twice the size of her head, looking as though they could tip her over if she leaned one way too much. She almost smiles at the thought.

"Rachel's... She's tough. She's dealt with a lot worse than a slap. And she still sees the best in you." Quinn thinks it's supposed to be supportive and tender, but it just pierces her heart and she feels like she can't breathe again. She stands up quickly, feeling the bile rise in her throat and it reminds her too much of the girl carrying an unborn life that would never grow to love her as a daughter loves their mother.

"I need to go," she says abruptly, and Santana looks at her, desperately trying to meet her eyes.

"Q, please," she says, and Quinn doesn't even know what she's pleading for, but she knows she can't give it to her. She has nothing to give.

"I can't, I- San, I need to go- I can't-," she stutters out and she feels like she might faint, like the oxygen supply to her brain has been cut off.

"Okay." Santana pulls back. She sighs. "Okay. Just text me, 'kay? Number's still the same."

Quinn's pushing past her before she's even done speaking and somehow the memory-filled hallway feels even more suffocating than the tiny classroom with Santana in her personal space so she moves to her car as fast as she can, and she drives.


	2. Chapter2

Rain slaps the pavement and all Quinn can think about is her hand slapping Santana's face. She feels sick and turns the volume on her television set up all the way. She's been curled up on her hotel bed since she arrived the previous afternoon. The lump in her throat turned into a boulder sometime last night and she can't even lift her head without feeling exhausted. Her entire encounter with Santana drained her and now she's a pile of skin and bones and a faint heartbeat chained to a strange bed. She didn't even tell her parents she was coming home for the holidays, not ready to hear the tense silence that always suffocated them while she was in the house; God, she feels pathetic.

Her phone rings so loudly she almost jumps from her spot, but the tiredness that settled in her joints keeps her in place. _Santana_, the screen reads, and her stomach drops. She thinks she can get away with not answering, but it keeps ringing and ringing and something inside of her is just aching to hear her old friend's voice; feel the familiarity wrap around her throat like a noose and let her fall into slumber, ending the war she's been roped into for as long as she can remember. So, she picks up.

"_Quinn?_" If she focuses hard enough, she can see the concern etched into the frown she knows Santana has on her face. Her tongue feels like it's a thousand pounds and she can't speak. "_Q, I can hear you breathing._" Nothing comes out. "_I just wanted to make sure you were okay after yesterday. I went to your house, but Judy said you were still in New Haven, what's going on, Fabray?_"

Quinn feels like the walls are closing in on her and the earth is collapsing, and everything is falling from underneath her feet. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to focus on Santana's steady voice. "Your house," she finally croaks out. "I'll meet you at your house." And then she hangs up. She closes her eyes for a moment and imagines what she's even going to say to Santana. How does she explain that she's been broken since she was 13 and now, she's almost 19, an adult, still unable to put herself back together? How does she explain that to Santana, whose mother will love her until the day she dies and whose father can at least muster up a smile when she's in the room? Confident, free, snarky, Santana, who's also the only person Quinn knows that might have more broken bits sticking out of her than herself. And it's dizzying to think that maybe they aren't all that different; that they might still be those 8-year-old girls somewhere inside.

Once she gets back to the inside roads, the drive to Santana's house is so familiar that Quinn thinks she could make it there with her eyes closed. If she wasn't so afraid of who she'd hurt in the process, she might've. It sends a million thoughts through her head at breakneck speed. How would Santana react to a phone call that Quinn had been in yet another car accident, but this time it was fatal. Would she blame herself because Quinn was on the way to meet her? Would she care at all? The idea makes Quinn sick and she turns the radio up to drown out her disgusting thoughts. She isn't suicidal, or at least, she doesn't think she is. Growing up in the Fabray household never let one dwell on the state of their mental health for too long, lest they stop self-medicating with substances and actually get psychological help. Never, because looking like a mental patient would be worse for the family than the alcoholism they exhibited behind closed doors.

She gets to Santana's house and her thoughts cut off abruptly. She remembers the way she would unbuckle her seatbelt and throw the car door open in a haste to jump from her booster seat to the pavement, just so she could ring the doorbell for their weekend playdates. She remembers tangling her arms around Santana's tiny frame every time, as if they hadn't seen each other in years. It's nothing like the way she stumbles from her car to the door. She doesn't ring the doorbell this time, opting instead to text her arrival to the other girl. When she hears the lock click from the other side, though, when she sees Santana's face with worry etched into her features, she falls into her old friend's arms once more. It's not the same. It's not happy and innocent and filled with squealing and excitement. It's so melancholy that Santana's arms almost burn where they wrap around Quinn, as if Quinn's body is telling her just how unworthy she is of this concern and affection. Neither of them says anything for a few long minutes, Quinn just holds onto Santana like she's her lifeline and Santana supports Quinn in a way she didn't know she could.

"Q," Santana says so softly, like Quinn's glass and anything over a whisper will shatter her. "Come on, you're shivering." And it hadn't clicked that they were standing in the doorway of the Lopez residence, Quinn hadn't even made it through the front door. She lets Santana lead her inside and into the kitchen where she's seated at the table. "I'll make some coffee, okay?" All she can do is nod. She feels like she's losing her mind as she stares out of the kitchen window, at the rain falling so heavily onto the grass outside, as she hears the coffee machine whirring accompanied by Santana's soft humming. Nothing feels right. It feels like a part of her has been coming to all these realizations that the rest of the world has yet to catch up with. Santana sits across from her with an air of elegance that reminds Quinn of how, at the age of 18, they both have more baggage than any teen should have.

"Here," she says as she slides a steaming mug towards her. "Sugar with a little bit of cream." She gives Quinn a half-smile, an opening to break the tense silence that built up since Quinn entered the house. Quinn looks in Santana's mug and lets out an airy laugh.

"Black like your soul," she jests. They smile at each other and it's almost as warm as their coffee. "Santana…" She starts before shutting her mouth. Where does she even begin? "Do you remember the summer before freshman year?" Santana nods with a confused smile. "I had dropped Lucy from my name, finished losing all the weight, got contacts. You helped me bleach my hair that summer."

"God, the stupid shit we did," Santana chuckles fondly and Quinn's mouth quirks up at the sound.

"We also kissed that summer, remember? Well, I kissed you." Santana nodded, confused once more by the random memories. "I-I… After we pulled back, I remember you looked at me like you were about to say something that would completely break me. I just… felt it. I knew you were going to ask if it made me gay. And I remember I said that it meant nothing, and girls just kissed for fun, and we just had to practice for all the high school boys." Quinn's voice is shaking so hard she wonders if she makes any sense at all.

"Quinn, where are you going with this?" Santana asks wearily.

"I'm so sorry, San," Quinn abruptly blurts out as emotion overtakes her. "I've hated myself for that every single day since, and it only got worse once you came out to me. You were so scared, San. I always felt like it was my fault that you were so against the idea of being gay, the reason you slept with all these guys, like you had something to prove. God, Santana I am so sorry for it," she's crying now, and she finds that she doesn't care. Not with the way Santana's wrapping her arms around her and telling her she's forgiven, or how she's stroking her hair in a way that feels like a promise, like it's all going to be okay.

"I forgive you, I promise," Santana whispers as the tears subside. She holds Quinn until she stops hiccupping and then she leads them upstairs to her bedroom, coffee long forgotten.

They lay down side by side and stare up at the ceiling that still has glow in the dark stars from 3 grade. Quinn begged her parents to buy some and insisted on sharing half of them with her best friend. She shivers at the ghosts of their childhood.

Santana has a loose grip on her hand, running her thumb up and down her palm in a way that feels like a memory. She closes her eyes and lets it overtake her.

"You're holding on to so much, Quinn." Santana finally says. She lets go of Quinn's hand to prop herself up on an elbow, brushing a few locks of hair from her friend's face. "You've kept things inside for so long, and now you're breaking under the weight of them."

Quinn feels the tears pricking at her eyes once again and wills them not to fall. They're so hot it seems like they'll burn holes into Santana's pillows. "I don't know how to let go," she forces out in a hoarse voice. "I don't know what to do anymore, San."

"I know. I know, Q. I'm here for you now, and I'm so sorry," Santana's voice begins to quiver, and she takes a deep breath in. "I'm so sorry that it's taken me this long to be here for you again." Hazel eyes meet deep brown ones, as if checking for any amount of insincerity. But all Quinn sees is a vulnerable little girl she once called her best friend.

"I wish we did things differently," Quinn says as she looks back to the stars. She begins to wonder if her and Santana will ever be able to have a meaningful conversation without being under artificial galaxies. "I wish I didn't let myself lose you." She doesn't know where the honesty is coming from. For the past 4 years she let herself form a mask around Santana, completely untrusting of the other girl's true motives. She's beginning to wonder if they both changed too much out of fear, because all she can see, all she can feel in that moment, is the friendship they both shared so strongly as children. The innocent love they had for each other fills the cracks in Quinn's heart for the time being, and with the soft way Santana looks at her, she thinks she feels it too.

"Me too," Santana sighs. "We got too caught up in… well, everything. Cheerios, boys, glee. It's like we were completely different people once high school started. We were too inexperienced to handle a friendship with everything that was thrown at us."

"Can we handle it now?"

"Yeah, Q, I think we can."

The two girls find themselves standing side by side in the junk food aisle of the grocery store not long after they discussed their rekindled friendship. Quinn had told Santana about her situation with the hotel and, ever the carbon copy of her mother (but she'll rip Quinn's head off for saying that), Santana insisted she spend the rest of her Lima visit at her house. So, they're standing with a shopping cart full of groceries, trying to choose the perfect candies because Santana keeps insisting they need to have a movie marathon to officiate their best friend status. The goofiness from her friend is keeping Quinn's mind off of what feels like her impending doom, so she goes along with it. In this moment it feels like her only worry is whether she needs sour keys or a chocolate bar and when she voices her concern, Santana picks up both and lets them plop into the cart.

Mrs. Lopez is home when they get back and the shock on her face is visible when Santana and Quinn dance through the kitchen with arms full of groceries. When Santana tells her that Quinn will be staying with them, a look of pure gentleness and care washes over her and it's the same expression she dawned with every last-minute sleepover and impromptu visit once Quinn was old enough to ride her bike to their home. The familiarity of it all made Quinn's stomach churn with guilt and anxiety but Santana's mother just wraps her in a hug and says how missed she was. Quinn is beginning to think it's the Lopez's job to say reassuring things that make Quinn feel nauseous. It's unsettling that everyone in the room knows Quinn; her story, her family, _Lucy_. Unspoken or not these people can see through her and Quinn hasn't known what that feels like in years. It's almost… comforting.

They're left to their own devices after that and Santana grins a mischievous grin before dragging Quinn downstairs into the basement. A wave of nostalgia hits her as soon as she steps foot past the threshold. Too many memories were made in this room and they all come raining down at once. As Santana gets the DVD player ready, Quinn lets herself walk up to the small bar in the corner of the room. Her fingers dance along the wood so delicately as they did so many times as a child. She was always enamoured by the subtle rebelliousness she felt, sitting in a room with a bar. It was something only adults could experience, and she felt like she was a step ahead of other kids for getting that small taste of being a grown up. The idea leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Hey," Santana's soft voice pries her from her memories so quickly that Quinn nearly jumps out of her skin, and she thinks maybe she wishes she did. She could use the change. "Are you okay?" She wants to laugh, say she hasn't been okay since she was 12 and doesn't know if she'll ever be okay again. She doesn't, though. Instead she nods and says "I'm fine, just nostalgic I guess."

Santana nods along and gives a half smile that forces Quinn's lips to turn up too.

"We were crazy kids. I was like the flame and you were the gasoline," Santana paused, smile faltering. "Maybe it was too all-consuming." She doesn't explain what she means but Quinn thinks she knows anyway, and she agrees. There's something about the way Santana speaks about their childhood, like she's much too wise for her age, like being 12 was such a far away memory; as if she's lived lifetimes between then and now. Quinn thinks she has.

She doesn't reply. Instead, they just silently move to the couch and Quinn curls into Santana before she can listen to her own protest. If Santana's surprised, she doesn't show it. She just wriggles around until they're both comfortable and she clicks play. When the opening scene to _Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone _behinds to play, Quinn grins almost wildly up at the other girl. They used to watch these films every time Quinn was upset even though Santana never understood the point (or so she claimed even though she was passionately a self-proclaimed slytherin). Something warm travels throughout Quinn's body at the idea that Santana remembered these small details about her, and she wonders if maybe their old friendship isn't that far away after all.

For the next two and half hours, the only time they speak is to make snarky commentary and jokes that really aren't that funny (they laugh anyway). It isn't until the credits start rolling, as Quinn waits for Santana to put the next DVD in, that she realizes something is wrong. She sits up slightly to get a better look at Santana's face and notices the girl staring at a spot on the wall, deep in thought.

"What's on your mind?" She coaxes, gently poking the other girls shoulder. Santana shrugs. She looks like she wants to speak but can't formulate the right sentence and Quinn patiently watches as she works her jaw back and forth, trying to grind the words out.

"What happened to us?" Santana finally asks, and the question is so heavy that Quinn almost feels herself go limp. "I keep trying to wrap my head around it and yeah we have the excuse of the trials and tribulations that McKinley had to offer, but what _really_ happened, Q?" And now Santana's looking at her right in the eyes and all Quinn can see is hurt and confusion and… exhaustion.

"I don't know," she lies and it's so painful that all she can do is grip onto Santana even harder than she was before. Santana's looking at her like she can see right through her, like she can read the thoughts running around in Quinn's mind, and it shakes Quinn to her core. Enough so, that she needs to sit up and put some space between them because she's starting to feel like she's suffocating.

It's silent for a long few moments before she speaks again. "That's a lie," she sighs heavily. "I just- I don't know how to explain it." Santana gently nods, as if that's enough of an explanation, as if just _not knowing_ is enough to explain away the collapse of their friendship. Quinn grows anxious at the idea of Santana being so willing to move on and forget the past, forget the ruined friendship that Quinn still blames herself for. She feels overwhelmed with the idea of someone actually being _willing_ to be in her life again, like she doesn't deserve it, and she feels the need to explain how evil and horrible she was and how she ruined everything because then maybe Santana will run away and not get hurt again. And, again, it's like Santana can see right through her because when she opens her mouth to speak, she's quickly cut off.

"Can we just… let it be? Just for today?" It's a soft plea that pushes any thoughts Quinn had of self-destruction. "I really missed you, Q. I really missed this. I don't think I realized just how much I did until yesterday. Just let me be here for you, for now, okay? I think I need this." And if Quinn had any hesitation after the moment Santana began speaking, it was drained from her body with the last statement. If Santana needed this, she wouldn't be selfish, they could have that conversation when it arose. But in this moment, Quinn just lays back down against her old best friend and gets ready for the next moment.

She's desperately hoping they'll be okay this time.

She thinks they have to be.


	3. Chapter 3

They sleep in the next day, all the way until the sun is high in the sky and the sound of cars rushing back and forth drown out the early morning bird calls. Quinn's legs are tangled with Santana's so intricately that she almost can't tell which are hers, if it weren't for the stark contrast in skin tone it would have taken her a lot longer. There's a fluttering feeling in her chest as she thinks back to countless mornings she would wake up to this same sight, wrapped in Santana's arms, as if they were protecting her from all the bad in the world. She stiffens her arms and legs in an attempt to stretch with what little moving space she has, and the action is enough to stir Santana from her sleep.

"Good morning," she says with a sleepy smile and Quinn thinks this is what home is supposed to feel like; waking up at noon wrapped up in your best friend and not a care in the world. She wishes she could've come home a long time ago.

"Morning," she mumbles back. There's a shyness in her voice that wasn't there last night, and she thinks the proper rest she had was enough to snap her out of whatever fairy tale she was living in, where her and Santana were still best friends. She thinks she needs to let something venomous bubble up from the dark pits of her soul to get Santana to stop looking at her like everything is okay again, but she can't; she doesn't want to. She likes basking in the warmth her friend's presence provides, likes hanging onto every word Santana says as if her life depends on it. She's spent too long holding herself up alone, and falling into someone else just feels too good to let go of. _Santana needs this_, she reminds herself, as if she's alleviating some sort of guilt she feels for letting herself feel something other than sadness.

"You're thinking too loud," Santana groans as burrows her face deep into her pillow and the chuckle that leaves her throat surprises even her. It's deep and hearty and it's the most genuine laugh she's heard from herself lately. Santana looks so smug and proud and Quinn's heart swells at the sight.

"Sorry, when you get into Yale your intelligence tends to get too much for others to handle," she jokes in a way that is so familiar for them it makes something warm settle around them like a second blanket.

"Can it, Fabray." The narrow-eyed glare holds absolutely no ounce of hostility and it's broken immediately when Quinn flashes the cheekiest grin she can muster. She likes this. It's how things used to be except they're grown up now. Even more grown up than when she was twelve and on a diet that could pass for starvation, more than when they were eleven and Santana was sent to the nurse's office with blood all over her after beating up the racist boy in their class. Quinn wonders if they were always too grown up and now they're just growing into it. The way stress lingers on Santana's face, even in her most relaxed moments, makes Quinn think that's exactly what it is.

Something softens in the air between them and Quinn feels what little is left of her walls crumble to the ground. There's no running from Santana this time, and she thinks her friend knows that.

"I missed you too, you know. A lot." The words come out without her permission, but she can't find it in her to mind as they keep pouring out. "When I was pregnant with Beth, I would always think about how you'd probably be just as stressed about what I could or couldn't do, probably even more than I was." They both laugh softly at the truth in her statement, but her words lay heavy on their hearts. "I wanted you to come into the room with me when I was giving birth but, I don't know. I thought you would be weirded out by a sweaty, panting, pregnant girl dragging you along with her."

Santana sounds choked up when she finally speaks. "I wish you did. I heard Puckerman looked like he was about to faint, wish I could've seen that for myself." There's no actual malice in her voice and it makes Quinn scoot closer to wrap her arms around the other girl.

"I'm sorry I screwed everything up," she whispers, and Santana's grip tightens.

"You didn't." There's no room for argument. Santana says it as a fact and Quinn has to take it as one. "I love you, Q."

Quinn's heart swells so big she thinks it might burst right out of her chest because God knows the last time someone said they loved Quinn Fabray and meant it. Tears slip from her eyes, not from sadness, but from the relief of knowing she's not broken beyond repair. She can still be loved.

"I love you too. So much."

"Your phone has been buzzing all day, who the hell is so obsessed with you and why are you not on your way to murder them?" Santana says as she eyes Quinn skeptically. The blonde has a bright grin on her face, staring at her phone screen and Santana is suspicious.

"What?"

"I said, who is up your ass, Fabray?"

"Oh, it's just Rachel." There's a shyness in Quinn's voice that makes Santana narrow her eyes, but she figures the blonde is going through enough right now and decides not to push it.

"I forgot you're talking to the hobbit. How is she? And why the hell is she making you so giggly?"

"She's good, she just made a joke about Kurt and said she might come down for thanksgiving after all." Quinn finally locks her phone and looks at Santana, and when their eyes meet, the blonde looks like she's just been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "What?"

Santana leans back in the chair at her desk with a smug grin on her face. "Oh, nothing. Just looks like you and Berry are getting awfully cozy." Quinn rolls her eyes at her friend's dramatics and swings her legs over the edge of the bed.

"You are so weird, Lopez," she laughs as she exits the room and walks towards the bathroom. In all honesty, Quinn feels her heart stuttering much too quickly to be healthy. The implication of Santana's words feel like a weight attached to her ankle, like it's holding her hostage at the bottom of the ocean and she can't breathe. She grips the edge of the sink with all her might and her whole body begins to feel weak. It's like the only thing tethering her to earth, stopping her from floating away into an abyss of fear and anxiety, is that stupid porcelain sink.

"Quinn?" She hears from the other side of the door. There's a couple gentle knocks and then, "Q, come on, I was kidding about Rachel." The name just makes Quinn squeeze her eyes shut tighter and hold on for dear life. Her chest feels completely constricted now and there's not enough air entering her lungs. "Q?"

And then the door opens, of course, because Santana is the one that taught her how to pick locks all those years ago. There are two strong arms around her shoulders then and she's forced to look into those two brown eyes that feel so very comforting and familiar and Quinn collapses into her best friend for the umpteenth time that week. There seems to be a bubble surrounding the two of them, where nothing exists except for Quinn and Santana and the love between them that they will never grow out of. Santana slides them down to the floor and pulls Quinn impossibly close as she strokes her hair, whispering things that Quinn doesn't have the energy to understand.

She focuses on what's familiar. Santana's voice, the smell of her friend's shampoo that has been the same since 7th grade, the smell that will forever be engrained in her mind as _Santana_, something so inherently her that she can never associate it with anyone else. She focuses on Santana's steady heartbeat and the gentleness of her touch, on the way she brushes her fingers through her hair the way she used to before braiding it when they were 10 and Quinn refused to learn how to do it herself because she liked feeling Santana's fingers on her scalp and running through her hair too much.

It feels like years before her breathing becomes something resembling a normal pace again, her eyes are falling shut from exhaustion regardless of the fact that it was only 3pm. Santana wraps her arms around her frail form and guides her back into bed and brushes a few blonde strands away before promising to be back in a second.

She takes 417 seconds and Quinn wants to cry over the fact that she was lied to.

She comes back with a glass of apple juice and toast with strawberry jam. Quinn sits up and sets the glass and plate down on Santana's nightstand before pulling the girl into a hug with all the might she has.

"Thank you," she whispers as she pulls back and there are tears in Santana's eyes that almost fall, but Quinn just shakes her head and gives a small smile and Santana smiles back. And it's enough. They sit shoulder-to-shoulder against the headboard and Quinn rips the toast in half so they can share, and it's enough.

They're silent for a long time, both trying to recuperate from the events that just unfolded, before Quinn speaks. It feels scary, opening her mouth, being open and honest. But the past couple of days with Santana has shown her that there's very little she can hide from the other girl, and she finds that she doesn't care, that it feels so good to let it all out.

"I was jealous." She says. Santana looks at her with those soft, understanding eyes, and she just nods. There's something about the way that she just _accepts_ everything Quinn says, like there really needs to be no explanation, like she can feel however she wants whenever she wants, and Santana will always think it's valid. "Of Brittany." She closes her eyes like she's bracing for the impact that she knows will never come.

"Why?" Santana's voice is soft and reassuring and curious and not mad at all and it makes Quinn want to cry.

"Because I was stupid." She laughs humourlessly. "I thought she was prettier than me, more athletic, naturally blonde, as if any of the mattered to you. She was funnier than me, she made you laugh more, and you always wanted to hang out with her. I thought it meant you didn't like me anymore, like you found your replacement, so I thought I needed to do the same and I went for Finn. God, Santana, I was so stupid. I was so insecure and-and, if I had just_ known_ that you felt like that about Brittany maybe I wouldn't have fucked us up like this. I should have known, S. You were my best friend and I just, dropped you because I couldn't handle being second best." She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes until she sees spots because she refuses to let the tears start up again and then she feels Santana's hand on her back. She lets out a frustrated groan into her arms. "It sounds so stupid hearing it out loud."

"It's not stupid. If that's how you felt it's not stupid. I could've done more to prove you wrong but I didn't. You're not the only one at fault, Q." Santana's voice is so genuine, and no matter how much Quinn doesn't want to believe her, it's hard not to. "You were never second best, though. You and Brittany are incomparable. You both mean so much to me, Quinn, and I'm sorry if I wasn't showing you that enough."

"Don't." Quinn says softly. "Don't turn this on yourself. It's not your fault. I'm sorry I let this happen in the first place."

They look at each other for a long time after that. It feels like they're shedding their old skin and familiarizing themselves with the new.

"How about we just move on from it, 'kay?" Santana offers. "We don't forget it happened, but we don't dwell on it. Let's use it as a positive because now I'm sure we both appreciate each other so much more." Quinn can only nod tiredly. Santana holds her arms out and Quinn gratefully falls into her. She lets out a sigh and gets comfortable because she's too tired of being scared. She thinks it's okay to feel safe like this.

There seems to be only one topic that the two girls have been dancing around but never addressed in the past three days, and Quinn is so tired of talking about herself and her horrible mental state. She needs to fill the atmosphere with something other than tension.

"So how are you and Britt?" But the way Santana sucks in a breath and the way her shoulders tighten makes Quinn realize the answer will be anything but tension relieving.

"We-uh, we broke up."

For some reason, it knocks the air out of Quinn's lungs. "What?" She asks breathlessly.

"Yeah," Santana shrugs. "About a month ago." And Quinn scoots closer on the couch immediately. The background sounds of One Tree Hill are drowned out as she wraps her arms around the other girl. "I broke up with her, actually. Long distance is tough as hell." A few tears fall from her eyes and Quinn is quick to wipe them away.

"And is it better now?" She asks quietly, already knowing the answer.

"Not at all," Santana chokes out. "I'm so dumb, Q. I really threw everything we had away and for what? Because I missed her too much? What kind of dumbass does that?" She's fully sobbing now, and Quinn can't help the tears that are trailing down her face at how broken her best friend sounds. "She looked so hurt, Quinn. I broke her heart, and mine, for nothing. Because everything is worse now."

"Shh," Quinn murmurs gently as she kisses Santana's head. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay." She promises. She holds the other girl tightly and feels almost proud that she's able to comfort Santana the same way Santana can comfort her in their darkest moments. Santana is gripping onto her for dear life as her tears stain Quinn's hoodie but neither of them can find the energy to care as they hug and cry and let out all emotions they hid from each other over the past 5 years. Santana cries over the love she lost and Quinn cries for the ghost of a love she thought she could have. The one she shaped after Santana and Brittany, so soft and sweet and genuine and she thinks if Santana and Brittany couldn't make it, God knows nothing she was part of would last.

That's how they fall asleep. Santana is on top of Quinn and their arms hang off the edge of the couch and they look so absolutely exhausted that Mrs. Lopez can't find it in her heart to wake them up long enough to go to Santana's room, especially not when she sees the tears tracking down both of their faces. So, she grabs the warmest blanket they have and wraps it around Santana and the girl she still considers her honorary daughter.

When she goes to sleep that night, her heart feels heavy with the weight of everything those two girls have been carrying for much too long, and she decides she'll make breakfast in the morning. Just for the little bit of normalcy it'll bring that she thinks they all need right now.


End file.
